


Morals, Ecstasy and Gold

by Vivalavidapasta



Category: Undertale
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Swapfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Western, Casual Violence, Character Development, Crime, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Gun Violence, Guns, Implied Violence, M/M, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prostitution, Swapfell Papyrus (Undertale), Swapfell Sans (Undertale), Tags May Change, asshole characters, papyrus is papyrus ig idk, reader is a gremlin trash bag no redeeming qualities, sans is fucking evil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:33:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24334408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivalavidapasta/pseuds/Vivalavidapasta
Summary: Everyone is a shitty personI don’t condone anything in this fic, obviously
Relationships: Papyrus (Undertale)/Reader, Sans (Undertale)/Reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 21





	1. Ugliness

**Author's Note:**

> Like seriously tho, some of your fav characters might die. You’ve been warned.

It’s a hot desert day, one in a million for the years of dust and grime. Sinners are begging to quench, the whores and hounds about. In a certain idle town, a man waits by the water trough. A stray, skinny dog runs by, a tumble weed tumbles and the dirt twirls in the dry heated wind. 

Two men in the distance ride in at the opposite side of the small, desolate town. They wore what they all wear at these times; hats, belts and guns. Slowly, they got off their horses and tied them to the post, walking almost leisurely towards the first man. 

He too got off his horse, keeping his eye on the two and a hand constantly hovering over his gun like a hen. The two men spared a look at each other. One was skinny, real tall. He held a cigar in his teeth, the smoke billowing and visible from a quarter mile. The other was shorter and a bit stockier yet held a smile as dangerous as the tall one’s. 

Their hands too was real friendly with their gun’s personal space. 

Slowly they all came to a stop, right in front of the main house. They all had a murderous glint in their sights, eyes staring into each other’s soul to see who pulled the gun first. 

This was it. 

They waited....

......

....

...

..

.

They all ran into the house, gunshots ringing out for miles. 

Glass shattered of the window, out came a real rat of a person. Hair tangled and sticking out all angles, a gun in one hand, a half eaten rabbit leg and whiskey bottle in the other, still wearing a napkin round their neck.

Meet the ugliest person ever, you. 

Dropping the rabbit leg, you ran and jumped up onto the horse, took a swig of whiskey and rode that sucker off the trail. 

One of the men staggered out of the door, right hand bleeding as he shot at you with his left. He was bad with his left though and stumbled backwards, passing out with the two corpses beside him.


	2. Badness

Life in the west was hard, yet simple and good.

You could make a fine living for yourself just farming and taking care of your family. 

On such a family home was a young boy, running the mill mule. His skin was sun blessed, contrasted by the bright veins of purple fire magic that courses through his veins and lined his skin. His father was once a candy maker himself, now retired to a family man. 

Yet, a man is riding toward them, a silhouette on a horse. 

The boy immediately got off the mule and ran into the house, like how his mama taught him to do if a stranger ever come by. He ran inside, telling his papa bout the man riding in. 

Indeed, the man stopped and got off his horse, tying it to the dried out fountain up front before walking in. 

He stood at the front door, the arches of the house framing him like an angel on the doorstep. 

At the opposite end, the boy emerged, along with his father. He was a monster of the fire type, flames a bit dimmed and dulled. He limped until he braced himself against the wall, an injury that no magic healing could help. No magic could heal a fire monster from water damage. 

With a glance from his father, the boy sat down onto the dinner table before him. His human mother peered at his father and then the stranger, looking awfully pale as she set down a bowl of lentils. With a hand on his shoulder, she led the boy out of the kitchen and to the back while he stared on at his father, a glint of wetness in his eye. 

Once they walked away, the fire monster stared for a bit at the stranger before moving. A dog was barking in the distance as he limped over and sat down himself, serving himself a bit of the lentils. The stranger finally walked more in towards him, a calm yet proud stride, heels clicking on the stone floor. 

Standing, the stranger kept his eyes on him before slowly sitting himself down too, right as the fire monster put down the lentils. The stranger himself took a portion of it, filling his host’s wooden bowl with the mash. A slight crease in his oddly malleable face but he said nothing to oppose the food. 

No, he kept his eyes straight onto the fire monster. 

Both were silent as one ate and one portioned the meal, both kept watch on the other yet controlled their hands. Soft crackling came from him as he ate. 

A rooster crowed and the stranger began to eat, still with that stare.

Those damn eyes... 

“You’re... from muffet?” 

The stranger’s mouth curled up, just slightly. 

“...tell muffet that I told her all that I know already! Tell muffet that I wanna live in piece, understand!? That it’s no use to go on tormenting me!”

The stranger just ate his food, mixing it a bit before spooning another bite into his mouth, staring at him. 

“I-I know nothing ‘bout that case ‘a coins-“ that caught his attention “now that all that precious gold has disappeared, right under my nose... but if she just listened, we could have just avoided this altogether!” 

Despite being fire, he panted like he was breathless. His flames burned faster as the stranger looked somewhat intrigued. 

“I-I went to the army Corp... There were no witnesses, they couldn’t uncover anymore. I can’t tell Muffet what happened to the money... go to her and tell her that!!!” 

He went back to eating, his flames wooshing around, crackling harder as the stranger stared at him. 

“...word’s around said that you had a visitor...and Muffet knows it...”

Slowly, he looked up to the stranger past his shattered glasses. 

“Might be Frisk.”

The stranger picked up a bread and a knife before cutting through it, the fire monster staring in thinly veiled horror. 

“Well, Frisk was here,” he sliced a piece off, “or Muffet got it all wrong.” He slowly ate the slice of bread. 

He looked down. “....she’s not wrong....”

“Maybe Muffet would wanna know what you and Frisk just had to say. About the cash box.”

He kept his gaze down, barely eating yet nursing his food. The stranger sighs. 

“That’s not what I’m being paid for. I’m only interested in what name Frisk is hiding under.”

He looked at him skeptically. “How do you know they’re under another name?”

“Because then I would have found them already!” The stranger cackled. “When I start off to find someone, I find them. That’s why they pay me.” 

“How much does Muffet pay you.”

The stranger grinned, tilting his head toward the wall, full of sadistic mirth. 

“Is that your family?”

The fire monster turned to see what he was gesturing at, a picture of him, his wife and his two children. Grimly, he turned back. 

“Yes...”

“Nice family. 

“...how much does she pay you to murder me!?”

The stranger chuckles. 

“500. For the name.”

He hesitates. 

“The. Name.”

“....Chara. They’re going by Chara...”

He shakingly gets up, limping over to his desk before pulling out some money and throwing it onto the table right as the stranger is about to eat another helping of lentils.

“1000.”

The stranger squints and opens up the bag. 

“1000 dollars... and some in gold? Quite the sum, Grillby.”

The stranger takes a bite of the lentil. It dawns on Grillby that he’s quite hungry if he’s eating straight up beans. Still, the stranger swallows and smiles, his eyes staring into his soul. 

“When I get paid... I always see the job through...” 

...

Before Grillby can fully pull out his pistol, the stranger beats him to it and shoots him from beneath the table. Dust sprinkles the food and the floor.

The stranger stands up and starts putting the coins neatly into the bag. Behind him, Grillby’s eldest son tries to shoot him with a shot gun but the stranger is too fast, shooting him in the chest. With a burst of flame, he’s dusted too. 

Quickly, the wife runs back inside, confused by the first gunshot, scared by the second. She arrives just as the stranger left, her vision spinning as she peers at the dusty floor. Her last son runs down the stairs only to stare in horror as his mother falls down into his father’s remains. The dogs are barking. 

—————

Night time blends well with the stranger, as his clothes are dark and he is a moonblind enigma. Slowly, he comes before a bed. Inside is an old spider lady. She is every bit of grace as she coughs into her hands. He brings over an oil lamp to her bedside.

She slowly wakes up with the light before sitting up.

“...it’s you. Any information?”

“Too much,” he said, pulling a chair and sitting on it. “He has said quite a bit that should interest you. And one or two things that surely interests me.” 

“Such as?”

So straight to the point. “The name Frisk is hiding under is Chara. That’s your bit. He also seemed to say something about a certain cash box. Now, that’s my bit.”

Muffet seemed a bit confused, a tad bit pissed. “Anything else?” His grin grew sharp. 

“Not enough for you, my dear? Well, you won’t have to worry. You’ll never have to see him anytime ever again.”

At this, she smirked. “Perfect. He was too loud.” She procured a wad of cash that she kept beneath her silky pillow. “There, 500 for a good job.”

The stranger acknowledged the money. “Ah yes, I almost forgot,” he stood up, reaching into his coat pocket. “He gave me a thousand. I think his idea was for me to kill you, my dear.” He chuckled. 

She laughed, finding an unfounded joy in that joke. Even as he picked up a pillow. 

“It’s a shame, really. A pity. That whenever I’m paid...” He hovers it over her head. “I always follow it through. You know that, my dear.”

All her eyes widened and she shot up. 

“N-no, SANS-“

He pressed her down with the pillow and shot her in the head, the purple glow of his pistol humming down with smoke. 

He blew at his gun before sheathing it. He took up the oil lamp and slowly dimmed the light. As he did, he took one last look at the dust filled bed. 

And laughed. 

Meet the baddest person ever, Sans. 

With that, he blew the light out and there was darkness.

Life in the west was hard, yet simple and bad.


	3. Good people may not be good people

Riding the horse through the rocky terrain, you came across a field of sorts. 

Only for your horse to be shot.

You sprawled onto the ground, landing on your face. Your horse wailed as it tipped Ang slid to a halt, a bullet between it’s eyes. Growling, you quickly rolled over and crawled to grab your gun, only to hear a voice.

“That gun not gonna do anything for you, Amigo. There’s three of us.” 

Slowly, you rose yourself up as three men revealed themselves from the rocks and circled you, similar to you. Dirty, ugly and terrible.

“Hey, Amigo! You know you have a face that’s beautiful enough to be worth 2,000 dollars!?” All three laughed like pigs. 

“Yeah... But you don’t seem like the one to collect it.”

A very tall man walked over, wearing a hat and a jacket. From what you can see, he was so white. So white he had no skin. Two gold fangs glitter in the sun, between them a cigar. The stranger plucks it from his teeth and flicks it to the ground, puffing out a cloud of smoke. 

“Couple steps back.” His voice wasn’t taffy, nor was it honey, it was a spicy chocolate. It had a rasp in it that sent a tingle down your spine and down your trousers. 

The man in front of him did so, stepping a few steps back and dropping the wanted poster of you. The other two gave each other glances, each men resting their hand on their guns. You stood still, ready to dive to the ground in case of a shoot off. Well, not in case. There’s definitely going to be a shoot off. 

It was quiet....

Until it wasn’t.

The man in front rose his gun a second slow, buzzing shots rang out as all three men dropped dead around you. 

His gun clicks, metallic jaws reverting back to a closed position before he slips it back into his pocket and starts walking towards you. 

You hadn’t even realized what happened til you shook your head. You started chuckling. 

“Oh- oh why thank you, gracias, thank you-“ you scurried over time grab your gun- only for him to appear and step on it. 

“How much are you worth now?”

You stared at his boot before straightening up, still laughing (a bit nervously).

“Heheh, what I’m worth? Well,,, two thousand dollars! Hehehe.”

He chuckled too. You laughed. He laughed. You laughed. He stuck his cigar in your mouth. 

You looked at him, confused.

—————

Spitting out the cigar, you squirmed and wriggled, tied up on the back of his horse screaming profanities.

“YOUR MOTHER IS A PUTA, YOUR FATHER IS A HORSE, I BET YOU FUCKING CAME OUT WRONG EVEN FOR A WHORSE BABY- CORTAME SUELTA! CUT ME LOOSE!!!!”

He slowed to a stop before the sheriff’s office in the middle of town. He got off his horse and picked you up. 

“Look, you can let me go and I’ll pardon you! Your sins will be forgiven! May god have mercy on your soul! I- I don’t feel so good-“

He pulled you off the horse and held you against the beam of the building as you panted and struggled.

“I’m dry, Smokey. Agua, Water!”

When he came closer, you spat on his skull. Laughing maniacally, you should have expected it when he slapped you hard across the face. 

Growling, you started up again. “YOU SON OF A BITCH, LET ME GO-“ He pushes you onto the porch, leaving you squirming. He walks inside while you kick at him. 

“WHAT, YOU CAN’T FIGHT A MAN TIED UP!? COBARDE! COME BACK AND I’LL KICK YOUR ASS!! You- you BASTARD!”

Another man walked out and peered down at you with disgust. 

“OH WHO’S THIS!? ONE BASTARD GOES IN, ANOTHER COMES OUT!” 

The man walked closer before kicking at you as you cussed at him. 

“Cut it out! CUT IT OUT!” 

He pinned you down as you squirmed. 

“IM A FARMER! AN INNOCENT FARMER IM INNOCENT OF ANYTHING-“

He yanked your shirt up and rolled out a wanted poster of you. 

“So you’re an honest farmer? Do you recognize this man? Yeah, it’s you.” He lets your head drop back down as he stands up. Groaning, you barked back up to him.

“WHO SAYS!? I BET YOU CANT EVEN READ! YEAH GO AHEAD, ROLL IT UP, ROLL IT UP! ILL TELL YOU WHERE YOU CAN PUT IT! TO HELL WITH ALL YOU SHERIFS AND DEPUTIES AND ALL WHO BIRTHED YOU!!!” 

Out comes the tall skeleton that sold you out, making you rage once more.

“JUDAS! JUDAS, YOU SOLD ME OUT! LOOK, LOOK HE’S COUNTING THE MONEY! YOU SOLD MY HIDE!” 

You were once more yanked upwards, onto your feet.

“BUT YOU WONT ENJOY THAT MONEY, NOT A PENNY! IF THERE IS JUSTICE, THAT MONEY GO TO THE UNDERTAKERS! YOU KNOW WHO’S SON YOU ARE? YOU DONT, I DO. EVERYONE DO. YOUR MOTHER- YOUR MOTHER, CANT EVEN SPEAK OF YOUR MAMA! IT’D BE A SIN TO EVEN MENTON HER NAME! I NEVER HURT ANYBODY-“

——————

“Wanted in 16 counties of this state, the condemned is found guilty of the crimes of murder, armed robbery of citizens, state banks, and post offices...”

You sat on a horse, tied up and a noose round your neck. A crowd of stupid, tame townspeople stand around you as the sheriff lists off your crimes. 

“...the theft of sacred objects, arson in a state prison, perjury, bigamy, deserting his wife and children, inciting prostitution, kidnapping, extortion...”

You grinned lazily as you looked at all the faces of the townspeople. You wish you can spit on them for being so dumb...

“...receiving stolen goods, selling stolen goods, passing counterfeit money, and contrary to the laws of this state, the condemned is guilty of using marked cards and loaded dice.”

...and so gullible. You glanced up to the top of one of the open buildings, a puff of smoke drifting out. You could see the sparkly remnants of magic even from here. 

“Therefore, according to the powers vested in us, we sentence the accused here before us, (Y/n) (middle name) (m/n) (m/n) (m/n) (another m/n) (l/n),” 

“Known as the roadrunner,” commented the strange skeleton to himself, taking another drag of his cigar. 

“And any other aliases he might have to hang by the neck until dead. May god have mercy on his soul. Proceed!” 

The deputy steps up and readies his whip only to get shot in the hand. A bullet flys by and cuts the rope of your noose, the horse under you getting spooked and running away, letting you escape. 

—————

“Five for you. One, two, three, four...”

You grabbed the money he gave to you.

“Five for me...”

He pocketed his money. 

“Five for you.”

He gave you it. 

“And five... for me.”

He had made it look like he was going to give you it but he pocketed that anyway.  
You glared up at him as he adjusted his jacket. The two of you were squatting beneath a rock formation far away from the town. 

“Do you know how much you’re worth now?” He drawled. 

“No, how much?”

“...3000.”

You pocketed your money and glared at him once more. 

“There are two kinds of people in the world my friend. Those with a rope around their neck and the ones that do the cutting. Listen, the neck at the end of the rope is mine! I run the risks. So, next time, I want more than half!” You yelled at him. 

“You may run the risks my friend, but,”

He just chuckled and relit his cigarette between his fingertips. 

“I do the cutting. If we cut down my percentage... it might interfere with my aim.” 

You glower at him... but smile.

“Then you better miss pretty good. Whoever double-crosses me and leaves me alive...” You chuckle. “Knows nothing about me!”

He just nodded and gave you a look. 

“Nothing!” 

—————

“Wanted in 17 counties of this state, the condemned standing before us, (Y/n) (middle name) (m/n) (m/n) (m/n) ( one more m/n) (l/n), has been found guilty by the Third District Circuit Court...”

Once again, you’re on a horse. With rope round your neck. This time surrounded by even dumber, whiter townspeople. 

“Of the following crimes: murder, assaulting a justice of peace, having an affair with a wife of the white race, having an affair with a wife of the black race, having an homosexual affair of both’s husbands, derailing a train in order to rob the passengers,” 

Standing upon the walk way was the harbinger of death himself. Yet he wasn’t here to reap this one’s death, although he tried. Nah, he was looking for a particular human. Even so, he couldn’t help but stare at this one so close to kicking the bucket. His ribs rose and fell, mimicking controlled breath. He would not let it change. 

A monster scurried before him. 

Dirt beneath his boots. 

“What have you acquired, Jerry?”

“If you ask me, sounds like an story book to me. An armed unit, escorting a cash box of gold coins, meets an ambush and only two are saved. The kid and Frisk. The thing that wasn’t saved though was the gold. Awkwaaaaaard. The army holds a hearing and Frisk is acquitted. They disappear and become Chara Dreemurr.”

Sans scoffed. “I know their name.” 

“But you don’t knoooow what they look like now, but I do! And let me tell ya, I wouldn’t wanna be like dat kid and-“

He sighs, pinching his nose ridge, grumbling.

“Jerry. Just, speak normally. You don’t have to suddenly get into a southern accent. Where is Chara now!?”

“Fiiiine. All I know is Chara is re-enlisted. Lost an eye and is now living with a whore named Maria. Took em in after her own kid died.” 

“Where?”

“Mmm, I think it’s... at Santa Restos.”

Sans huffed and flicked two gold coins at the small monster before stalking away.

“Adios, Jerry.”

“Hey! Can’t you grab me that booze!?”

Sans doesn’t answer, walking away. Ugh, finally. He couldn’t stand that guy. He would have blown him to dust but he’s not in the mood for a shoot off. He stops near his carriage, where a Miss Charlotte Dion sits. He was supposed to be her escort.... and her reaper.

“Glad they got him! A man of all those crimes!” She scowled, fanning her golden curls. Sans chuckled at her ill-aimed passion.

“People with ropes round their necks don’t always hang.”

She looked at him confused as he opens up the carriage. 

“What do you mean?”

“Even a filthy beggar like that has a guardian angel”

Sans turned to see the figure entering the town, billowing smoke under that hat, gold glinting from his teeth. Sans smiled.

“An undead angel protects this one.”

Taking another huff of his cig, the figure pulls out his gun. 

“Of all these crimes, the accused has made a full, spontaneous confession. Therefore, we condemn him to be hung by the neck til dead. May the lord have mercy on his soul. Proceed.”

Right before the deputy can whip the horse, a gunshot goes off. 

The rope is missed. 

The horse runs away without you, leaving you to hang and struggle on the rope while the townspeople scream and run away. You wriggle as you choke, a few more gunshots as you swing for the rope to finally break. You land hard on the ground, groaning and getting on your knees. 

You get up and start running as Smokey starts shooting off the hats off people to distract them. Then he rides up besides you and pulls you up onto the horse, riding off into the distance.

Sans chuckles and steps into the carriage with a frightened and shaking Miss Charlotte. 

“Dear lord! I wouldn’t want to ever be a pole near those criminal vermin! May the lord damn every murderer!”

Sans smiled. “Why, yes, Of course Miss Charlotte. Every... murderer....”

—————

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SAYING!? ‘ANYONE CAN MISS A SHOT- NO ONE FUCKING MISSES WHEN I’M ON THE ROPE!” You screamed at him as you rode. “YOU NEVER HAD A ROPE ROUND YOUR NECK! WHEN THAT ROPE PULLS TIGHT, YOU CAN FEEL THE DEVIL BITING AT YOUR ASS!”

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s getting tougher. That’s why I figure...” He stops the horse and pulls you off of it by the rope still around your neck. “There’s not really a future with a girly, sawed-off ruby like you.”

You stared up at him in confusion. “What... what do you mean?”

“That I don’t think you’ll ever be more than 3000 dollars.”

“What do you mean!?”

“I mean,” he took another drag of smoke and spat into the sand. “Our partnership is untied.” 

You stared at him before looking down at your binds. 

“Oh no, not you. You stay tied. I’ll keep the money, you keep the rope.”

Your eyes widened before squinting and growling up at him. 

“Why you filthy, double crossing bastard! OF ALL THE STINKING, DIRTY TRICKS-!”

“The way back town is only 60 miles. If you save your breath, I’m sure a man like you can manage it.” With a tip of his hat, he turns around and starts to trot off. “Adios.”

Guffawing, you stumble towards him. 

“Smokey! Smokey! Smokey, you filthy BASTARD! COME HERE! CuT THIS ROPE OFF! GET OFF THAT HORSE YOU FILTHY COWARD!” He rode away even faster. “IF I EVER CATCH YOU, ILL TEAR OUT YOUR SOUL AND EAT IT! ILL BREAK APART YOUR BONES! ILL HANG YOU MYSELF! I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU!!!”

He stops a bit in front of you, and turns towards you, taking his cigar out of his teeth and grins lazily.

“Of all people, such ingratitude. After all the times I saved your life. Heheheh”

Meet the goodest person, Papyrus. 

Which in this world, 

He rides away, leaving you there alone. 

“S-Smokey! You wouldn’t leave me here... come back! Wait, listen, Smokey! Grrrr, ¡HIJO DE UNA GRAN PUTA!”

, Doesn’t mean much.


	4. Blood, guns and gold are the only past times

A late dry yet cold evening turns colder as the winds stop and the cold of the mountains seems to seep and steep in the air. A raggedy band of drunk men push a woman off their caravan, yelling and hooting at her. She screams at them, calling them pigs and rats and every name under the sun for how they crooned at her. She stomped up the stairs as the men rode away, still hooting and hollering.

Stepping in, she was slipping off her heels off her swollen feet when she heard a voice. She turned around, looking around the candle lit hallway. 

“Chara? Are you home baby?” She called, walking around the hallway until she reaches her room. 

There before the bed stood a stranger; a skeleton. He grinned. 

“Chara? You say? Where is this Chara?”

The woman backed up, staring at him like a rabbit. 

“I-I don’t know who that is! Why would I know?”

As the wolf, he follows.

Wiping his hands off with a rag, he recounts what he learned. They left ten days ago with their unit for Santa Fe. It’s sad that he had to... “deal with” such a beautiful lady but pain has no price and picks no favorites.

Though, there is a certain favorite that death has. 

Just the thought makes his soul pound in anger and his head feels high with the thought of cold vengeance. He sins against his past life’s upbringing and whispers a curse, opposite of holy love.

Holy judgement. 

May the earth scorch his heels, may the sun glaze his skin, may the air tan his lungs, may the fruit of his loins be-

The crimson stained rag tears in his hands... and he regards it with distain.

May his soul be damned with not an drop of water.

Throwing the rag behind him, he swings back onto his steed and rides off.

Of course, his curse never works.

——————

You had walked. And walked. And walked. 

Your heels were scorched. The sun glazed your skin to crust. The air tanned your lungs. Your loins- let’s not talk about that.

Dry tongue licking your chapped lips, you barely had enough energy as you walked the board walk up. Finally. Town! 

Stumbling, you ran towards the water trough and dunk your whole head in, bubbling in the water before throw your head back and screaming in relief. Splashing yourself with water never felt better as you drunk a fuckton.

The sound of a door hinge stopped you... you turned around.

An owner of a gun shop was shutting the door- only for you to stick your boot in the door. He opens it again, looking at you concern. You stare at the sign hanging on it. 

Closed. 

Haha.

You tear off the sign.

“B-but,” the owner stutters as you shut the door behind you “the store is closing!” He tried to persuade you. You ignored him of course, yawning as you walked more inside- only to grin and chuckle as you walked towards the real prize.

Guns.

You pick up one that looks more like a crank doohickey. Pass.

Picking up another, you put it up to your ear and spin the revolver. Eh, pass.

You picked up a part of one, testing the spin. Good. How bout the smell? Eck. Pass. 

The pansy behind you said softly. “R- Revolvers.” 

You gave him a grunt. “Revolvers.

You then swept the whole counter of all that shit. They clanked against each other and made a loud racket as you spin around, the owner flinching with each CLACK and CLICK. You point to the glass case below the counter. 

“Revolvers.” 

You stole the bottle of whiskey he was holding the whole time, taking a swig as he scrambled to open the case. “H-here is where we keep the best ones!” 

He starts pulling out guns, listing them all off annoyingly. You growl, “enough enough.”

You pick up one, bringing it up to your ear to hear it’s spin. Taking off the barrel and the cylinder, you place down the frame and pick up another gun. Taking out the cylinder, you roll it in your palms. Magical...

Seeming good, you attach it to the first gun’s frame. You look around before picking up another and detaching the barrel, pointing at the owner and looking with one eye through it. Attaching it, you flick it once and then bring it up to your ear again and listen to its spin.

You nod, grinning and putting it up to the owner’s ear to hear it clicking. 

“Cartridges... monster kind.”

He nods and turns around before handing you it. You look through the selection and pick out- oh shit, a deltarune! you insert it into the main chamber. 

Now your favorite part of guns with magical capacity. 

They transform.

Pressing in, the metal clicks and suddenly your gun has triangular plating and engravings on it. Two purple wings flare out as it comes to life. You tie a leather string on with a bead and a few feathers. you finally finished assembling your gun.

The owner nods and leads you to out back where there is wooden targets cut out as people. Snickering, you take another swig before spinning your gun and shooting two of the straight between the eyes... 

“Ey. Move that one sideways.”

He obeyed, scrambling over and putting the last one sideways. He ran out of the way as you aimed.....

BANG!

Nothing happened.

The clerk laughed. At your face. You just took another swig.... and stomped onto the floor boards, the target falling over where the bullet had sliced it. 

Walking back inside, you took his hat and leaned on the counter. 

“So... how much?” You asked, playing with your gun 

“20.”

Click.

“50.”

Spin.

“100?”

Point.

“200!!”

You smiled as he counted out the money and gave it to you. You were about to go.... well, might as well pay.

You give him the whiskey. He’ll be needing it.

However, you stop before the door, that fucking closed sign in your face. Grinning you grab it and beckon the clerk back to you. Once he reaches you, you make him say aaaaaaaaaah. And shove the sign into his mouth. Chuckling, you walk. On a mission. 

To kill Smokey.


	5. Rich promises for brothers

Here it is. The cave of your bastard brothers. Not from a mother but from a father. 

Father crime.

You brought a fresh chicken with you for this as you get off your stolen horse and approach the cave. You hold it and slowly put your hold it in view of the entrance and clear your throat. 

“If you work for a living, why do you kill yourself working!?” You called out before waiting for a second...

Slowly you tipped your head in, scanning the desolate cave for signs of life. There’s a hot cauldron in the middle, bags and stumps surround it. You huff and start walking in, keeping a sharp eye. 

You get to the cauldron and hang the chicken on the rack of it, the chains on it shaking as you look down and pluck a cooked potato from the boiling water. It’s amusing.

“Heh. Potatoes.” You chuckle before you sit down on a rock close by. “You gotta be poor to eat potatoes. Very poor.” You put down the potato before grabbing your chicken. 

“I’m rich. But very lonely.” You start ripping out feathers from it. “The world is divided in two parts. Those who have friends and those who are lonely. Like me. See, I used to have a friend... Pedro. Chico and Ramon, the brothers, were my friend too. But who knows where they are now?”

You glance up at the hole in the ceiling of the cave before putting the chicken down. “Whelp. Tough luck friends that I haven’t found you. I had a good deal for you. I got 4000 dollars.” You pick the potato up once more and start to peel it.

“...4000 dollars. And I know where to find it and who else knows. If I could help find it, I’ll split the spoils fourways. Like a brother. 1000 dollars each, hm?”

You look up as three ropes are thrown into the cave, down comes your friends. 

“You’re alive! Is it true!?” Pedro asks. 

You grin and grab the chicken, swinging it around. “I’m rich! And you’ll be too!” 

“But people said you were killed in Albuquerque” Chico mentions. You turned to him, “and people talk bullshit!” The brothers laugh as you get up and walk closer to Pedro, snarling.

“I’m alive, you bastards, and I always will be! And I’ve come to give ya 3000 dollars!” You throw the chicken into the cauldron, grinning. “Vamos!”


End file.
